WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BAIE DES CHALEURS
Never, never shall I forget the elation which filled my heart as
I stepped ashore with Lucy that September day in the Baie des
Chaleurs, in Canada. After weeks of unrest, my feet once more were
on the sure, unchanging earth, in the land that held what was more
than all else to me, "my dear and only love," my Hugh.
As we strolled along the clear, hard sands beyond the sound of the
men toiling at the water-casks, I felt tempted to cry: "Lucy, Lucy,
can you not see my happiness? I am no Madame de St. Just, but
Margaret Nairn, the happiest woman in all the world, because my
feet press the same ground that bears my love." This, poor Lucy,
with her cramped Methodistical ways, would have held savoured only
of lightness, or worse; she could never understand the longing that
had worn at my heart all these years, and, most of all, she could
never conceive of a love such as that of my Hugh. Crowning all my
joy came back the words of his dear, dear song--
"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,
Nor deep eneugh the sea,
Nor braid eneugh this weary warld
To part my Love frae me."
No, nothing should part us now. Poverty and pride had kept him
silent when my heart was yearning for him; but now, poverty did
not exist, for I was here to make him restitution, and the pride
was all mine now, in claiming a love that belonged to me alone.
Love was King, and
"The King shall have his own
Once more!
The King shall have his own!"
I sang, mimicking his manly tone as best I might, to the great
astonishment of Lucy.
Delighted as we were merely to feel the sands beneath our feet,
the soft, fresh green of the forest which edged them close attracted
us, and we timidly made our way under the first scattered trees.
Then seeing no wild animals, of which we were greatly in dread,
and hearing the reassuring voices of the seamen, we ventured in
far enough to gain the thick, sweet-smelling carpet of pine needles,
and at length seated ourselves by a little stream, but near enough
the sands to see the waters of the bay glinting between the trees.
"Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I am so happy!" I said, in the fulness of my heart,
giving her my hand, for I looked on her more as a companion than
a waiting-woman; but before she could reply a hand was clapped over
my mouth, and I saw Lucy struggling in the arms of a savage. An
overwhelming terror crushed all life and sense out of me, and I
swooned away.
When I recovered I found I was being carried swiftly by two savages,
one at my shoulders and another at my feet, but my terror was so
great upon me that I dared not make a sound. How long, or how far
we went I could not even conjecture. I saw the trees passing before
my upturned eyes as in some horrid dream, but it was not until I
began to catch glimpses of the sky through the thinning branches,
and my captors halted in an open space, setting me on my feet, that
my senses came back in some degree.
We were beside the water again, dark and empty. The Indians
immediately brought forth three of their light canoes, which they
had cunningly concealed among the bushes, and laid them gently on
the stream. No one molested me, nor, indeed, paid any special
attention to me as I sate and watched them.
[Illustration: "And laid them gently on the stream."]
The pictures in such works as La Hontain and others I had seen were
unreal, and I could not recognise their models in the men about
me. They were painted, it is true, but in a manner more grotesque
than affrighting; their hair was black and lanky, plastered close
to their heads, but with one or two long, plaited braids escaping,
ornamented with beads. Their only clothing consisted of leather
leggings more or less tattered, and the belts for their weapons,
which crossed their naked bodies; each one was shod with soft
moccasins neatly ornamented, and I could not but admire the ease
and agility of their movements. Strangely enough, I was no longer
possessed by my former terrors, my only anxiety being for Lucy;
but I could not doubt she was in safety, as the Indians were
evidently expecting the arrival of the rest of the band.
Before long we heard sounds of their approach, and my poor Lucy
appeared. "Oh, my dear, dear mistress!" she cried, "I was afraid
I should never see you again!" and the faithful creature clasped
me in her arms and kissed me as if I had been a child. Once she
was convinced of my safety, she straight recovered her serenity,
for it was more than composure. Her absolute faith and trust that
we were in the hand of God--of "Our Heavenly Father," as she always
said--was so complete that I leaned upon her strength and was
comforted.
All was now ready for the embarkation, but, to our dismay, we were
directed to different canoes. No force was used. Indeed, my captor,
who appeared to be the leader, or chief, for he wore somewhat more
of their tawdry finery than the others, and his face was decorated
by a broad band of white below the eyes, seemed anxious to add to
my comfort, directing me how to dispose of myself in the bottom of
the canoe. But once separated from Lucy, I lost the courage with
which she had inspired me, and I trembled at the rough, guttural
voices of the savages, who talked their loudest, filling me with
the greater apprehension, as it betokened they held themselves
beyond pursuit or discovery.
But Lucy, dear courageous soul that she was, divined my fears, and
sent back her message of reassurance to me in one of her people's
hymns, which I had learned to love on board the ship:
"Thou very present Aid
In suffering and distress,
The mind which still on Thee is stayed
Is kept in perfect peace."
At length, when the clear September day began to fade, we landed,
and Lucy and I were again together. No one seemed to pay any
special regard to us, but though we had apparent liberty, I felt
sure that any attempt at escape would be futile; indeed, the black
forest about us held more terrors, to our minds, than even our
captivity.
It was not long before the savages had kindled a fire, and the work
of clearing away the brush and making a camp was begun. In spite
of our fears, we could not but admire the readiness of those at
work, while the chief, with the principal warriors, lay about
smoking, and staring at us with their fixed eyes.
In a little space a fish was broiled on the hot stones, and a
portion of it laid before us, cleanly enough, on sweet-smelling
bark freshly peeled from one of the great birch-trees near by. It
was flat for the want of salt, but we were too hungry to be over-nice,
and our spirits revived with the comfort of our meal. Then, wearied
out, I laid my head on Lucy's lap and fell fast asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of voices raised in discussion, and,
to my amazement, I saw in the light of the fire a man in the garb
of a priest. Instead of a hat he wore a tight-fitting cap, his
soutane was rusty and patched in many places, and his feet were
shod with moccasins like the Indians. To my dismay, instead of the
accents which I expected, he was speaking to the chief in the same
guttural tongue as his own; yet his very gown was a protection,
and I rose and went to him without hesitation.
"Oh, father! You have been sent in answer to our prayers. Thank
God, we are safe!"
He started at the sound of my voice, and stared at me for what
seemed a long time without a word. "Yes, you are safe," he said,
at length, but in halting English; "these Indians will do you no
harm. They will carry you to some post farther south, whence word
will be sent to your friends among the English, and you will be
ransomed. Yes, you are safe."
"O, mon pere," I implored, breaking into French, for I saw that
was his tongue, "do not speak so! You will not leave us with them!
For the sake of the mother who bore you, listen to me!" and I threw
myself on my knees and stretched out my hands to him, but he drew
back as if my touch would have hurt him. "Do not forsake us; take
us with you! We are women, and are helpless. I do not desire to
reach any English post. I have no friends among the English. Do
not abandon us to these men; we are both women, and I am a lady."
"I see that," he said, more softly. "Where do you wish to go?"
"To Louisbourg, mon pere; our ship was bound there when we were
carried off."
"Had you any friends on board the ship?"
"My woman had her son."
"Have you a husband, or a brother, in Louisbourg?"
My face flamed scarlet at the unexpected question, but I answered
that I had not, without further explanation.
"Then you cannot go to Louisbourg. It is quite impossible," he
declared, with authority. "Louisbourg is no place for women at any
time, least of all now. The important matter is to set you free
from these savages, but you may rest without alarm to-night, and
I will decide what is to be done before morning."
He spake these last words wearily, like a man who had received a
hurt, which moved my heart towards him in quick pity, and I waited
to see if he would speak again, but he only raised his hand and
blessed me.
Lucy received my report with her usual quiet; even the tidings that
we were not to go to Louisbourg did not disturb her. "He knows
better than we, and he will be guided in all his decisions."
Despite the assurances of our safety, we neither of us closed our
eyes that night. Apart from the anxiety as to our destination, the
strangeness of our situation, the crackling of the fire, and the
uncanny noises of the forest kept us at such a tension that sleep
was impossible, and we were awake before any of our captors were
astir.
I looked eagerly for the priest, and saw him kneeling at a little
distance, absorbed in his morning devotions. Thereupon we withdrew
quietly to the river, and soon returned, greatly refreshed, to find
the whole camp afoot, and the priest awaiting us at the water's
edge. Going directly to him, I asked, "Mon pere, what have you
decided?"
"That you go with me," he said, quietly. And I turned to Lucy, but
she had already caught the joyous message of our deliverance from
my face.